Soothe the Pain
by AngelLouize
Summary: Prologue: The Storm - My first proper work since May Change. Whilst she sleeps the man she loves walks out, but what will she do and who will she turn to? It contains serious angst. SLJCALLK Please, as always, Read & Review.


Author: Louise E-mail: angellouize@aol.com Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story; they are the creation of Michael Crichton and the rest of the ER team. All characters are property of them and Warner Brothers Entertainment Inc. I am not making any profit from this story. Summary: A Susan Lewis story about divorce.  
  
Authors Note: It's been a long time since I wrote anything. I wrote this a long time ago; it was actually my GCSE English coursework. I wrote it thinking of the story that would evolve and then I never really got that far. I love to write and any of you that read May Change will know how much I write, or used to. Somehow I fell out of the rhythm. I almost forgot how to type words. I can't honestly tell you that there will definitely ever be a first chapter; I guess that I will have to see what the reaction to this story is first. All I know is that writing this was amazing; it was like being transported back in time. However you can never go back, as I hope this story will illustrate. Thank you for taking the time to read it. I hope that you all enjoy it and that you get something out of it. I would like to think that I have touched one person with my writing, just one.  
  
Soothe the Pain  
  
Prologue: The Storm  
  
The moon cast an eerie glow over the otherwise dark room, its light beaming through the window brightly. In the distance an owl howled sadly, followed shortly by the whistling of the wind. Shadows danced playfully across the bed, cascading over the sleeping body. The room had remained in an unbroken silence for several hours now, the luminous green neon light of the alarm clock that sat on the bedside table alerted him of the time, and the minutes seemed to pass only more quickly as time went on. Outside, a storm was brewing, clouds of thunder that in a short while would begin the rage that they would be entailed in for hours, were forming silently behind the glass. It was a cold, dark night, deep in the heart of winter and his skin was filled with goose pimples although he was fully dressed.  
  
She tossed and turned in her sleep, desperately searching for a comfortable position. He had been witnessing this for a long while now. Stood, of course, in complete silence and moving not even an inch. He sighed as she moved onto her side and rested a moment, seemingly finding a position that suited her. He was momentarily distracted by a determined tear trying to escape from his otherwise dry eye. He brought his hands to his face, covering it with his clammy palms; he rubbed his face, trying to soothe away the pain somehow. It didn't work.  
  
Across the room something glimmered, catching his eye. He wandered over, taking the offending object from the windowsill and into his hands. A small smile crept across his lips, as he remembered past memories. It had confirmed what he had always believed- they had been happy once. The gleaming smiles across their joy-filled faces informed him of that. Her rouged lips were curled upwards, outlining her perfect set of pearly white teeth perfectly. His lips were rougher, obviously less red, but smiling as wide as her own. His teeth were whiter than now; the photograph had been taken before the years that he survived on black coffee to provide him with any kind of zest. He put the photograph frame back on the windowsill, the tear behind his eye becoming even more determined now.  
  
He stared out of the window, watching as a lone car passed by; the rain was beginning to fall across the deep navy blue sky, being released in sheets from the dark and swirling clouds. A few solitary drops pattered across the window, trickling down towards the garden below. The weather seemed to echo his mood perfectly and he couldn't help wondering if this was some kind of sign. It almost seemed as though someone was trying to tell him something.  
  
He crept back towards the door, passing the large mirror that hung from the farmhouse yellow wall behind it on his way. The phrase 'death warmed up' was an understatement. Over the past few weeks' large bags of tiredness of stress had formed under his bloodshot eyes, ageing him by at least ten years. His skin was in a dreadful state, pale as a ghost and puckered by open pores. His once thick dark hair had become speckled with flecks of grey and more wrinkles had appeared over his once youthful face, reminding him once again just how old he suddenly looked. He had lost weight also and he now looked rake-thin. His once musclular frame, built up from years of playing rugby, had become skinny and fragile looking; his suit now hung loosely from his broad shoulders, the material draping in folds across his body.  
  
Looking at his drained and miserable reflection had not only confirmed his imminent actions but had also dispelled any doubts from his mind; it would have been all too easy to slip off his now over-sized suit and creep back under the covers, back into the familiar warmth, but his reflection had showed him everything he needed to see to stop him from sprinting back under that warm duvet. He had seen himself. He now looked like a man bored of living, yet there was something about the vivid blue sparkle deep in his eyes that told him that there was still a chance that he could be the man he used to be. In his eyes lay the spirit of a forgotten youth, a memory of a time when things were better, a time where coffee was no longer the thing that kept him alive, a time when the smile captured in the photograph that stood opposite was so eager to appear across his face. However much a part of him might want to race back into that bed he now knew that there was no way he would, ever again.  
  
They had been happy once, the cold metal band that pressed gently against his ring finger reassured him of that. Touching that ring catapulted his mind back to five years previously. His wedding day. The church bells still rang through his mind, the vows still echoed through the drums of his ears; he could even still remember the taste of her lips against his as they had kissed that day. It had been on a Saturday morning in early spring, the weather had been perfect. The sky had been clear and blue and had brimmed with the feeling of endless possibilities. It was almost as if a new beginning had descended upon them both, a fresh start to match a fresh day. The birds had been chirping from trees filled with lush green leaves and the laughter of hundreds of guests had filled the air. The church had been a grand place, filled with stained glass windows and statues of a religious disposition. Neither of them had ever been particularly religious but they had spotted the church whilst in the car on the way to visit a friend and she had forced him to stop outside. The only words she ever said during those moments in the parked car were "that's it" and all he had done was nod; he had often recalled that moment in his dreams, the moment where everything suddenly seemed to fit effortlessly together, like several pieces of a jigsaw finally finding the right way to be joined together. He remembered every hour, every minute and every second of the day when she had finally become his wife. Nothing could have prepared him for the way he had felt when he watched her waltz up that aisle, two hundred faces watching her every step with interest. He recalled perfectly the moment that she had smile up at him from behind that veil of frosted white lace. In that moment, and that moment alone, she had captured his heart. She had clung onto it ever since, keeping it with her all the time. It was a cliché but it really had been the best day of his life and he had spent every available moment of every day since that one searching for an instant that even came close to that one. So far, he hadn't found one.  
  
He turned slowly, watching her for longer than he had meant to. The tear that had been trying to leak its way out of his eye for the past few hours had won its battle, slowly it began to creep down his cheekbone and over his pale, lifeless skin, finally dripping off from his strong jaw. Her sandy blonde hair had fallen in spirals across her face and her cheeks were flashed with crimson, her limbs were arranged awkwardly over the mattress, the discarded duvet lay on the floor next to her. Watching her twist and turn as if she was in some kind of frightful nightmare made leaving her even hardly. He knew perfectly well from spending endless nights sharing the same sleeping quarters as her that she was a restless sleeper yet with him she had always seemed to sleep so much better, she said so herself. Watching her toss and turn like she had at the beginning of their relationship made him uneasy and tense, it made him feel guilty. Guilty. The guilt drummed through him, beating his very soul with its torment. Underneath the tears and the selfpity what he really felt was an overwelming feeling of sinfullness that consumed him. He knew that deep down, his actions were wrong. He was supposed to love her forever, not just until he got bored, or it was hard work. Not just until someone else came along.  
  
He often wondered why things ever had to change. Why could they not simply stay as they were? He knew the answers really, change is good, things can't last for ever, and a change is as good as a rest... He had just never expected change to ruin everything. He had never wanted to change anyway. Their relationship had been being drifting in a downwards spiral for a while and they had never seemed to be able to fit each other in anymore. He looked over to a wooden chair that lay in the centre of the room where he knew he hung the precious white jacket that she treasured so much every evening. He gently strayed towards the chair, his feet carrying him to it without his brain having a say, he touched the metal tag where her name was engraved and sighed deeply, finding himself gasping for the air that was so readily available to him. He stepped back, his mind returning to its previous line of thought. That white coat was one of the reasons but there were countless others. She loved her job, she saved lives, and she made a difference- that was what she was good at. He had never wanted to stop her doing that; he had always been too scared to ask. Yet a part of him ached with the idea that if he had things might have turned out differently. She had worked shifts and he had hardly ever seen her, even when he had she had been tired and unwilling to participate in any more activity than the bare minimum that was required. He had worked equally hard, his position in the company that he worked for providing him not only with a rather lucrative income but also a hefty workload. Slowly they had began to drift apart was the short of it, and he had drifted into the arms of someone else.  
  
He despised adulterers more than most. His father had left his mother and him at a young age, preferring to set off into the sunset with his youthful blonde secretary. He had sworn to himself that this would never be the path that he himself embarked upon and yet he now found himself in exactly the same situation. Somehow though it seemed different, as if what he was doing was somehow right, as if his actions were somehow justified. Tracey was different, she had been a brunette for a start, and she wasn't his secretary. They had worked together for many years and had over the time become good friends, often confiding in each other about the problems in their marriages. She would be doing the exact same thing right now as he was- saying goodbye. They hadn't meant to fall in love that had never been the plan. It had just... happened?  
  
His messy handwriting had scrawled a pointless note across a scrap of paper which he had placed beside her on the small wooden bedside table that stood beside their bed. A small goldfish named Bob lived up to his name in the bowl that was perched on top of the table, bobbing up and down through the single piece of weed that sprawled up through his home. Feng Shui. That's what she had told him when she had unexpectedly brought it home one evening after they had first moved in. He suppressed a laugh as he remembered how she had lectured him for hours on the importance of this goldfish bowl, on how it would make their marriage last forever. It was supposed to bring luck in love. There was his belief in Feng Shui destroyed forever. He tapped the glass bowl with his index finger, attracting no attention from the puffy cheeked fish at all. He smiled, looking down at the note and shaking his head at how pointless it seemed; for no words could ever be enough to explain, or to justify. In a way he wished he wasn't leaving a note at all, maybe disappearing into the night without a word would be easier after all. No. Even he was not that much of a coward, he had to let her know, even if the words she would have to read that following morning were poorly articulated and unimaginative. She had to know.  
  
A small draft of cold air drifted through the room from the open bedroom door, making him shiver. Slowly he picked up the duvet, tossing it over her lightly. She murmured slightly as the cover tumbled over her frozen body. A smile widened on her face, her perfect lips forming the perfect upwards curve. Tears were falling now and he couldn't stop them, he had not even tried to hold back the stream of salty water droplets that fell across his cheek this time. He leaned down over her, taking one last sniff of her coconut scented hair before he gently kissed her forehead, wishing her all the luck in the world as he tore himself away. Rising upwards slowly he whispered a faint, feathery 'goodbye' and came to rest on his feet. Turning his back on her he looked towards the door where a single suitcase lay by the door, the remains of his life. The products of 35 years of living, squashed into a single suitcase. This was it, the final goodbye.  
  
He looked over his shoulder as he blew her one final kiss, doubts once again infesting him infuriatingly, he picked up his suitcase. As he began to leave the room for a final time a small rumble of thunder broke out in the distance, drawing his attention once again over to the shadowy window. A bolt of lightening flashed across a sky splattered with the reminisance of a thousand memories, covered with clouds that somehow all looked familiar. The rain began to pour more heavily now as a second rumble sounded out across the still silent room.  
  
The storm had come. 


End file.
